


Don’t Make Promises To Me (That You’re Gonna Break)

by millenniumchainsaw (Rikudera)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Enemies to Enemies, Hate Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, horse thievery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikudera/pseuds/millenniumchainsaw
Summary: Atem is repeatedly stolen from his palace by a man with a mysterious grudge who threatens to kill him. It’s a pity he enjoys it.
Relationships: Atem & Mahaado | Mahad, Atem/Thief King Bakura
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12
Collections: Yu-Gi-Oh! It's Time to G-G-G-Gift! [Mini-Exchange]





	Don’t Make Promises To Me (That You’re Gonna Break)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeliciaBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaBelle/gifts).



> Thank you thank you thank you to my beta kappachyun, you rock.

When Atem awakes, it’s to the panic of a lump of cloth shoved into his mouth. He instinctively struggles, but he is rolled onto his stomach, a weight in the dark pressing down on top of him and two strong arms pulling his wrists back to be bound, his legs tied soon after. The same deft hands wrap one cloth over his eyes and tie another around his gag to hold it in place, and then Atem is lifted like a sack of grain onto his captor’s shoulder and carried out his bedroom window. All of this happens in less than two minutes.

In another five minutes, despite the number of palace guards, Atem is hefted onto a horse and carried out of the palace grounds entirely. He times the distance as best he can, but there are so many turns made in the process of the ride that he knows he’s being deliberately confused. After about twenty minutes of this, there’s a long stretch in one direction, then several more turns before a second stretch. At the end of the second stretch, the horse turns two more times, then slowly halts.

Atem is pulled down from the horse and propped up against what feels like a wall. He hears a slap against the horse’s rear and the sound of hooves vanishing into the distance. Another minute or more of indistinct sounds, and then a warmth. Then, finally, his blindfold is removed.

“You should know,” his captor says, grinning as he leans down, “that we’re very far away from anyone who would even know you’re missing. And seeing as you left your precious palace without any of that fancy golden jewelry of yours, you wouldn’t be able to prove to anybody who you are even if you _did_ escape. But you’re not going to escape because I’ve stolen you very nicely.” He’s wearing the same style of kilt as the palace guards, his bare chest glistening with sweat and his long, thick hair peeking out from under his head covering. There’s a scar under his right eye. He smells like garlic.

Atem darts his gaze around. He’s in some sort of cave, though he can’t see the entrance. There’s a small fire and a lumpy sack in one corner but not much else.

“Oi, Pharaoh.”

Atem glares at his captor.

“I’m talking. Don’t you want to hear why I stole you?”

Atem glares harder.

“That’s more like it. Now, you should also know that I don’t intend to kill you, not yet. Does that make you feel better? Well, it probably doesn’t matter. I’m going to do it eventually, _obviously_ , but I don’t want you to die without knowing exactly why. That’s my promise to you, Pharaoh. The truth. I believe that the truth is very important, don’t you?” He pauses, as if waiting for a response. “Of course you do. That’s why tomorrow night, we’re going to take another little trip together, but before we do, there’s something I need to ask you. Now, I’m going to remind you that we’re very far away from anybody else, so however much you’re about to scream, it’s not going to do you any good, but I’ll let you get it out of your system, and then I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer it. Are you ready?” He removes the cord holding Atem’s gag in.

Atem spits the gag out and immediately starts shouting. He shouts for almost five minutes. Absolutely nothing happens. His captor turns away and starts rummaging in his bag.

“All that yelling must be bad for your throat,” he says calmly. “Are you thirsty?” He pulls out a waterskin and brings it back to Atem.

“It’s poisoned.”

“Are you stupid? I’m not killing you yet.” His captor uncorks the waterskin and takes a swig. “There, it’s not poison. Drink, before you become even more delirious.” He pushes it up to Atem’s mouth, and he’s forced to drink. It’s just water; the excess drips down his chin. “Now, are you going to let me ask you my question?”

“You can’t possibly expect me to cooperate,” Atem says. “When they find you, you’ll be executed.” He’s not going to admit that the water feels good on his parched throat.

“There’s no prison that can hold me, and no monstrous tablet in that palace of yours that can best me. Listen. Where are the Millennium Items? I know they’re in the palace somewhere. I saw you wearing one last week as you gazed over the wall and down at all the people of the city.”

Atem snorts. “They’ll rip you apart the moment you step foot back in the palace.”

“They’ll be so busy looking for you out here that they won’t bother to guard inside the palace,” his captor says, grinning again. “Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

“You _are_ wrong.”

“Where are the Millennium Items?” He takes Atem’s chin in one hand, tilting it up. His gray eyes are glittering with hatred.

“You’ll never find them on your own, and I’m not going to tell you where they are,” Atem says, pulling his face away. The Millennium Items, when not being used, are kept safe in a special room within the palace. There are only seven people with the keys to that door, and Atem’s own key is safely hidden in a compartment within the senet box in his room. “What do you want with them?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Where are they?”

“I’m never going to tell you, you-” 

“Yes you are,” his captor interrupts, “because I know where your father’s tomb is.” He walks back to his bag and takes out a robe, throwing it on himself. In the firelight, the crimson fabric glows as if lit from within. “As you can see, I have proof.”

Atem freezes in horror. He recognizes that robe.

“And if you don’t tell me,” his captor continues, “then I’m going to go in there, and I’m going to find every instance of your father’s name, and I’m going to scratch them out. And then I’m going to go into the palace and do the same there, which as evidenced by your presence here, you know that I can do quite easily.”

“You _wouldn’t_.”

“The Millennium Items, or your father’s name. You have until the next nightfall to make a decision. Think on it, Pharaoh.” He walks over to the opposite side of the fire and lies down, wrapping Atem’s father’s coat around himself. “There are traps at the entrance that only I know how to disarm, so even if you somehow get out of those bonds without waking me, you won’t be able to leave. Goodnight.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Atem wakes to the sound of voices. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. He blinks his eyes open hard, scanning the cave. His captor is gone, bag and stolen robe and all.

“Help, someone!” he shouts, regardless. “I’ve been kidnapped!” He hears feet pounding, then a shout. “I’m over here! Please help!”

“Pharaoh, are you there?!”

“Yes! I’m here! I’ve been tied up, please help me!” Two blessed minutes later, the guards pile into the cave and untie him, then help his shaky legs walk to a horse and bring him back to the palace.

It’s a much shorter trip than Atem expected from the horse ride the night before. When he arrives at the palace, several of his priests are there waiting for him, as well as Siamun. Mahad tries to convince him to rest, but Atem waves him off.

“No,” Atem says, as he’s maneuvered to at least sit down. “I need to explain what happened. Where is everyone else?”

“Still out searching for you, Pharaoh,” Mahad says.

“I’ll send men out to call Set, Kalim, and Shada back,” Siamun says, then leaves to go do that.

“Pharaoh, please tell us for now, and we’ll pass things on to the others so you can begin recovering from this ordeal,” Isis says. Her gaze is steady on Atem despite the bags under her eyes; she must have been up all night with the Tauk, searching. “I’m glad we were able to find you, but it’s still unclear who did this or why.”

“I don’t know who he is, but he’s trying to steal the Millennium Items,” Atem says. “He kept asking me where they were.”

“Preposterous,” Aknadin scoffs. “As if a base criminal such as this man could take them when they’re either personally carried by us priests or under lock and key.”

“I’m not so sure,” Atem says. “He was able to get into my father’s tomb. I saw the proof with my own eyes.”

“That tomb was expertly designed by Siamun himself,” Aknadin says. “And Shada and I ensured only the most trustworthy of workers constructed it. Even if a thief _was_ to get in, there is no possibility of him coming out alive.”

“I know.”

“Did this miscreant say anything else?” Aknadin asks.

“He said he was going to remove my father’s name from his tomb if I didn’t tell him where the Items are.”

Isis brings a hand to her mouth swiftly to cover her gasp, and Mahad makes a garbled noise from the back of his throat.

“He also said,” Atem continues, “that he was going to kill me several times, but he doesn’t seem to want to do so until after he steals the Items.” He thinks for a moment. “That must be why he hid me so close to the palace. He was planning to break back in for the Items before taking me away.”

“Pharaoh,” Mahad says, “we will not let this man hurt you, or your father. If there’s anything you can tell us about him, a description…”

“He’s about your age,” Atem says, “probably a little younger. And he has a scar on his face, under his eye.” Atem draws invisible lines on his own face to match the shape. “He was quite strong, and knows how to ride a horse.” The image from the night of his captor in the firelight rises into his mind for a moment, those angry eyes and the hard planes of his bare chest. “And his hair was long. That’s all I can really say.”

“Guards will be posted around the palace and outside your father’s tomb,” Aknadin says. “He will not get away with this.”

“We can make great progress with this information,” Isis says. “Now, you must rest, Pharaoh.”

“So should you, you look like you haven’t slept all night.”

“You are kind, but I am fine, Pharaoh,” Isis says, though the comment does get her to smile.

“Pharaoh…” Mahad begins.

“Yes, yes,” Atem replies, properly chastised, “I am going to bed.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Security at the palace goes into overdrive, but despite all the extra guard patrols, Atem finds himself waking to the gaze of his would-be captor a mere three nights later. His bedroom is dark, but the moonlight streaming in the window lights up the man’s face and casts strange shadows on his muscular shoulders and torso.

The man is straddled over Atem, pressing Atem’s hips down to stop him from moving and holding another gag in his hands, presumably to stop Atem from screaming.

Atem doesn’t know why he doesn’t scream. He can’t look away from the intensity of the gaze upon him. Neither of them speak, but Atem can hear the man breathing as he hunches over him. His own heart feels like it’s pounding just as loudly in his chest, helplessly pinned as he is, only a single linen sheet between him and the man holding him down, eyes burning into Atem, the scar on his face–

Atem snaps himself out of his trance. “Guards!” he shouts. “He’s here! Guards!”

Quick as a snake, the man scrambles off the bed, pulling the sheet with him onto the floor as he heads for the window.

“Catch him!” Atem yells, yanking the sheet back to cover himself, but by the time the guards arrive, his captor has already fled out the window. “He can’t have gotten far. Go search for him.”

The guards leave again, both through the window and the door, and Atem decides that he’s never going to sleep in the nude again, no matter _how_ warm it is. He quickly dresses in the minute or two it takes for one of his priests to arrive.

“Pharaoh, perhaps you should sleep in a different room for the rest of the night,” Set says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Since your safety is apparently not guaranteed in this one.” He looks like he’s ready to chew the guards up as a late-night snack.

“I suppose so,” Atem sighs, heading for the door. He spares a glance back at his room, the thought of leaving the key in his senet box unattended weighing heavily on his mind, and then leaves to find another bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sleeping in another bed for the rest of the week does not help. It only makes it harder for the guards to catch up, and even then, Atem’s captor doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He simply shoves the bound and gagged Atem into the shadow of a column, his chest pressing so tight against Atem’s back that Atem can feel the thumping. He’s pressed Atem’s face away from the sound of the guards, so all he can hear is feet drawing nearer, then receding away once more. He lets out the softest chuckle against the back of Atem’s neck, barely more than a breath but giddy all the same, and then two minutes later, he’s somehow stolen another horse and is riding away.

Atem tries to wiggle off the horse and utterly fails. They ride out of the city, to some nothing little village, and then Atem is half-walked, half-carried into a nothinger little house.

“You’re going to want to scream again,” Atem’s captor says as he sits Atem down on an uncomfortable bed on the floor, “but it’s not going to work. Royal guards don’t come _near_ this sort of town. Nobody here cares, and even if they did, you have nothing on you proving who you are.” He squats down and brings his face close to Atem’s, an easy smile on his face. “Honestly, the sooner we resolve this, the sooner I can get on with the business of killing you.”

Atem glares back to hide the fact that he’s trying to wiggle out of the ties on his wrists. His legs haven’t been bound this time, so if he can just get his hands free, he’ll be able to find a horse and get back to the palace.

“Aren’t you supposed to listen to the exhortations of your people, or something?”

Atem doubts this man has anything good in mind, but maybe he can find out more about his captor if he gets him talking. Or if that fails, he can use the conversation as a distraction while he gets his hands free. He shrugs as if in concession.

“I’m serious,” his captor says, as he reaches back behind Atem’s head to undo the gag, “screaming isn’t going to do anything.” Atem rolls his eyes. The gag is undone, and his captor braces himself as if for screams.

“I’m not going to scream,” Atem says. “What I would like is to stop being accosted by you in the middle of the night.”

“Well, it looks like we can negotiate, after all,” his captor replies, back to grinning. “I want the Millenium Items.”

“What use could you possibly have for holy instruments of the state?” Atem asks. “Only those chosen by the Items themselves have the power to wield them without burning to ash, and it can’t possibly be for bragging rights if you’ve already breached my father’s tomb and kidnapped me twice.”

“Holy instruments of the state?” His captor echoes, taking a step back. “You say that to my face, and think you can still sleep easy at night, calling them that.”

“I _can’t_ sleep because you keep _barging in_ on me. The Millenium Items are what keep this land at peace, and I will not give them to you.”

“The Great Pharaoh says the Millenium Items are holy, so it must be so!” his captor spits out, mouth in a snarl, the scar twisting on his face. “Why should he care about the truth when he can simply speak it into being? Why should he care how many have suffered because of the so-called _peace_ his so-called _holy instruments_ brought to his palace? Why should the Great Pharaoh give even the slightest thought to Kul Elna and–” he cuts himself off suddenly, turning away. “You disgust me.”

“Kul Elna?” Atem repeats what seems to be a name, blinking. “What or who is Kul Elna?” Is that this man’s name?

His captor spins back around, eyes wide.

“You don’t _know?_ ” he asks. “I’ve risked my life getting you all the way out here, and you don’t know what Kul Elna is?”

“What is Kul Elna?”

Atem’s captor grimaces and makes the same noise in his throat that Mahad did when Atem told him about the threat to his father’s tomb, and then his expression goes hard as stone as he takes out a knife.

“Why are you doing this?” Atem presses. His captor starts walking closer. “If there’s something I don’t know, then tell me.” His captor kneels and brings the knife around to Atem’s back. “You said that you were going to give me the truth.”

“Get out.”

Atem’s bonds have been cut. His captor walks to the door and holds it open.

“What?”

“Go back to your palace, Pharaoh; I’m sure it will be easy for you to find the answer there. And then you can ask yourself why you looked me in the face and told me you don’t know what Kul Elna is.”

“Why can’t you just tell m–”

“Leave. Don’t make me say it again.”

Not knowing what else to do, Atem gets up and runs out into the night. Unfortunately, he doesn’t see the horse that he was brought here on, so he’s forced to search for another. After a bit of searching around the village, he finds three horses, all contained within the same stable, so all he has to do is lift the latch on the gate and–

“Who’s there?”

Atem hunches down, trying to avoid the moonlight around the stable entrance.

“What is it?”

“There’s someone there, near the horses.”

“Thief! Horse thief!”

Atem yanks the stable door open at the same time as three men emerge from the house next to it.

“He’s trying to steal our horses!”

“You vermin.” One of the men has a knife, another a club. “I’ll teach you to try and steal from me.”

Atem runs into the stable and goes up to the nearest horse. He braces himself against the stable railing so he can reach its back.

“You’re going to regret being born when I’m done with you,” the man with the knife says, advancing. Out of the corner of Atem’s eye, he can see the third one circling around the side of the stable. No hopping over the fence and finding a different horse, then. “C’mere…”

Suddenly, there’s a thump and a yell from beyond the wall Atem can’t see. A moment later, a red-robed hand yanks the man with the knife back, and Atem is face-to-face with his captor once more.

“I thought you might do something stupid like this,” he says. Atem can’t help but marvel that he’s still wearing the robe pilfered from Atem’s father. “Can’t even steal a fucking horse right.”

“What…” Atem starts, pausing halfway from climbing the railing to get on the horse.

“Well, go on!” He hops back out of the doorway, and Atem hears another thump.

Atem snaps out of it, nods, and then jumps onto the horse, giving it a kicking start and careening out of the stable. His captor punches the man running back from the far end of the stable, and then points towards one end of the village.

“That way, stupid!”

Atem kicks the horse in the direction he’s been pointed and begins his ride back to the palace. He arrives just as dawn is breaking.

“It happened again,” Set says flatly as Atem walks back into the palace itself. “I _explicitly_ told the guards that you were to be watched every hour of the day, and this still happened.”

“I’m fine,” Atem replies as Set walks with him back to the counsel room, “just tired. I even brought a horse back this time.” Aknadin and Mahad are there. Someone must have convinced Isis to go to bed. “Even if it isn’t ours.” He quirks a smile up at his priest.

“The first one came back on its own,” Set says, still grouchy. “Since it’s ours and the criminal’s hideout was less than a mile away.” Atem wishes he was as easy to cheer up as Isis. “I cannot believe those here were lax enough to let him abduct you again.”

“We’re all glad you were able to escape safely,” Mahad says as Atem and Set walk into the room, evidently having heard the tail end of Set’s rant. He gestures for Atem to sit down, but Atem waves him off.

“He let me go,” Atem says.

“Let you go?” Aknadin asks. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Atem shakes his head. “No, I said something that upset him. He mentioned a name, and when I asked him what it was, he told me to leave. He said he wouldn’t talk to me if I didn’t know what Kul Elna is.”

“What is Kul Elna?” Set asks.

“I have no idea.” Atem frowns. “At first I thought it was his name, but from the way he talked about it, I think it’s something else.”

“Pharaoh, he is playing games with you,” Aknadin says. “There is no such thing as a Kul Elna.”

“I don’t know…” Atem can’t forget the pained look on his captor’s face or the sound from his throat.

“Did he explain himself any further, or did he still threaten your father’s tomb and demand you give him the Millennium Items?” Aknadin prompts.

“I asked him, but he refused to explain.” Atem doesn’t understand how the man could threaten to kill him and then turn around and save him from other attempts on his life in the span of ten minutes.

“It’s a trick,” Aknadin says decisively. “He is waging mental warfare and trying to catch you unawares. He is a thief and a liar. Let us find him and bring him to justice.”

“I don’t know…” Atem repeats. A hand catches him by the shoulder, and he realizes, blinking heavily up into Mahad’s face, that he is swaying on his feet.

“Pharaoh, you need rest,” Mahad says gently. “We can discuss this more once you’ve had some sleep.” Atem nods and lets Mahad lead him out of the room.

“I want to sleep in my own bed,” Atem says, “since it doesn’t seem to matter either way.”

“Of course,” Mahad smiles.

When they reach the door to his room, Atem stops “Mahad,” he says softly, “I don’t think he was lying about Kul Elna. But I don’t know what it is.” When he looks up at his priest, he sees the familiar thoughtful expression he’s known since childhood.

“I will investigate this for you. Perhaps Kul Elna may give us a clue as to how to stop that man.”

“Thank you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Atem isn’t surprised when he wakes in the night to the man with the scar on his face attempting to tie him down in his own bed. He immediately kicks, trying to throw the man off, and they roll over each other a few times before Atem is pinned, face-down. The burn in his shoulders from his arms being yanked back is getting familiar, as is the weight of the body on top of him.

“Learn anything since last time?” His captor asks, quiet, into his ear. Atem stops struggling, and is flipped over. The waning moon is making it more difficult to pick out his captor’s expression than before, but he can at least tell the man’s stormy gray eyes are still focused on him.

“Can’t we just talk?” Atem asks, just as quiet. Maybe if he pretends to cooperate, he’ll be able to convince this man to tell him what Kul Elna is.

“...Not here,” his captor replies, after a moment of hesitation. “You gonna start screaming?”

“No. I just want to talk.” Atem’s captor gets off of him and pulls him upright, tugging him toward the window. “Can you untie me?” His captor narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. “I won’t run.” Atem remembers the noise from the back of the man’s throat. “I want to do what is right.”

The man reaches behind Atem and undoes the ropes he’s just tied, not breaking eye contact once.

“Thank you,” Atem says.

“Stay silent, and don’t make me regret this.”

They steal out of the palace together, this time. The scarred man has a hiding spot for every single area in the palace grounds, and it takes surprisingly little effort for the two of them to escape into the city.

The city has its own patrols, however, made more robust lately by Set’s orders, and the scarred man doesn’t seem as familiar with these streets. There are several times where he and Atem have to duck around corners at the last moment, and eventually, they are spotted.

“Who’s out at this hour?” a guard calls. The scarred man ducks himself and Atem into the closest alleyway, but it’s already too late; Atem can hear footsteps heading their way.

“No one’s to be out of their houses after nightfall, by order of the Pharaoh,” a second voice says.

The scarred man scowls at Atem. The footsteps are getting closer. Atem knows that all the guards in this city have been given a description of the man in front of him, and he knows how recognizable his own face is in this city. He also knows that running at this point would only cause them to be chased. He has to think of something, quickly.

“What are you up to?” The first guard calls.

Atem panics and brings the scarred man’s face down to his, kissing him swiftly. The man freezes against him.

“I said,” the guard is almost at the mouth of the alley, “that curfew is–”

The scarred man begins kissing Atem back, one hand around Atem’s shoulders and pressing his back against the alley wall, turning slightly so both their faces are blocked, the other wrapped around Atem’s waist.

“Damn kids,” the guard says. The scarred man puts his tongue in Atem’s mouth and grinds their hips together, earning a whimper from Atem.

“You can’t be out here.” Sounds like the second guard has arrived. Atem keeps kissing the man in front of him, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck and moaning into his mouth when their hips connect again.

“Go to an inn!” the first guard calls.

“Yes, sir!” the scarred man calls back, snickering. He waggles his eyebrows at Atem. Atem glares back and then kisses him again to shut him up.

“We better not find you still here the next time we pass by,” the second guard says.

“You–” Atem watches the scarred man bite his lip the next time their hips meet, “–you won’t.” 

“Damn kids,” the first guard says again. Atem goes back to kissing the man in front of him until he hears the guards walk away.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the man says, once they’re alone. They’re both still breathing heavily.

“It worked,” Atem replies.

“Let’s get out of here.” He finally detaches himself from Atem and pulls him deeper into the narrow backstreets.

“Right.”

They wind through the city for a little while longer, until they come upon one of many completely nondescript houses. The scarred man pulls Atem inside, shuts the door behind them, and then promptly pins Atem against it.

“Didn’t think you had the guts to pull off that move,” the man says. His hands are on Atem’s hips again.

“I told you,” Atem responds, pulling him closer, “I want to talk.” 

“Is this how you usually talk with people who threaten to kill you?” The man grinds his hips against Atem’s again, like he did in the alley, and Atem can’t help but arch against him. Atem isn’t entirely sure why he’s doing this either, but it’s definitely preferable to being thrown over a horse or sitting trussed up all night in a cave. And it’s not like he’s the only guilty party here, either.

“You haven’t killed me yet.” Atem runs his hands across the muscular planes of the scarred man’s torso, feeling his way under the red robe from his abs and around to his back. “I just want answers.”

“I’m waiting until the right time to kill you, idiot.” The scarred man bites at Atem’s lips in between breaths. “And I told you where to look for answers,” he adds, trailing his mouth down to bite at Atem’s neck, too.

“I…” Atem has to take a breath as the teeth scrape against his neck, “I _did_ look. The thing you speak of doesn’t exist. I don’t know why you can’t just tell me why you’re doing this.”

“Then you’re not looking hard enough,” the man’s fingers dig into Atem’s hips, dragging their growing arousals against each other. “You should at least put some effort into it.”

“I think I at least deserve the name of the man who keeps abducting me,” Atem says, biting back another moan.

“You practically abducted yourself, this time,” the man replies. “But considering you’ve been so cooperative tonight,” he waggles his eyebrows again, letting out another snicker when Atem glares and presses his nails into his back, “it’s Bakura. Are you going to show me the same courtesy and say yours to me? Your real one?”

Atem’s hands still. He hasn’t forgotten the threat on his father’s name, but he doesn’t think he’s going to learn anything useful if he doesn’t take a risk. Considering his last gamble in the alley got him to this point, he decides to chance it.

“My name is Atem.” Bakura grins.

“Much obliged. Can I ask the _Great Pharaoh Atem_ why he can’t keep his hands off of me?”

“You started it.” Bakura laughs and then puts his mouth back on Atem’s neck. “Maybe I’m…” Atem swallows another moan and lets his hands wander underneath Bakura’s kilt. “...maybe I’m trying to negotiate.” Bakura lets out another muffled sound into his neck, somewhere in between another laugh and a groan. “If I’ve wronged you in some way, then I will do what I must to ensure justice, but… I can’t know what justice is if you don’t tell me anything.”

Bakura stops to stare at him.

“I still hate you,” he says quietly, “and I’m still going to kill you.”

“Then tell me why,” Atem replies. “I’m already at your mercy.”

“If you look in the palace again and can’t find the truth, then you should know that it’s been kept from you,” Bakura says. “If that happens, then I might be forced to tell you, and you’re going to regret forcing me to do that. But until then,” and he grins, “Let’s just regret tonight. I think I’m going to enjoy you being at my mercy.”

~*~*~*~*~*~^~

Some time later, Atem thinks he rather enjoys being at Bakura’s mercy, too. But not even Atem can ask the universe to stop just for him, and that’s why Bakura has brought him back to his room. He hovers at the window, seemingly unwilling to go back in, and so it’s from his bedroom window that Atem tries to reason with him once more.

“Will you really not tell me? Bakura?”

“It’s a pity you’ll have to die,” Bakura replies.

“There must be a way to work something out. Nobody has to die.” Atem reaches for Bakura’s shoulder, but Bakura snatches himself away.

“People are already dead,” Bakura says, eyes stormy once more, “and more people are going to die whether you like it or not. You and your palace and your precious Millenium Items are _covered_ in the blood of the dead, even if you can’t see it yet.”

“The Millenium Items are what have brought us _peace_.” Atem looks at Bakura wearing that red robe, and all he sees for a moment is Siamun taking the Millenium Pendant from his father’s body and putting it around his neck, telling Atem that as long as he wore that pendant, it was his duty to keep Egypt united. At peace. “I’ll _never_ let you get to where they’re locked.”

“Locked up?” Bakura asks, suddenly smiling again. Oh fuck. “As in, not kept away from little old me with mere magic, but an actual, physical door that you stick a key into? What could a mere legendary thief possibly do to beat Great Pharaoh Atem and his fucking _lock?_ ” Atem hates having his name in Bakura’s mouth like this.

“Bakura, don’t—”

“No, it wouldn’t be just one key, would it?” Bakura’s smile widens. “There are seven Items, so there must be seven keys. Where’s yours? I know you don’t keep it on you. I’ve looked.” He winks. Atem doesn’t know whether he wants to punch him or kiss him again. “Though I could always look again, I suppose.”

“Get out of my palace,” Atem says.

“Sure thing.” Bakura darts forward to steal one last sudden kiss. “See ya next time, _Atem_.” Then he disappears into the night.

Atem flops down onto his bed face-first and gives a muffled little scream into his bedsheets.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nearly a week passes by, without event. No one mentions noticing him being abducted again, so Atem doesn’t say a word about his trip into the city with Bakura. He finds his mind constantly drifting to thoughts of the man, however, and the day-to-day distractions of the palace do little to keep him occupied.

“Don’t worry, Pharaoh,” Set says, when the subject comes up again. “We will catch this kidnapper.” The majority of the priests express a similar sentiment, so Atem waits until he and Mahad are next alone to talk about Bakura.

“Pharaoh, you’re distracted,” Mahad says. They’re playing senet, and Atem is losing badly.

“Were you able to find anything on Kul Elna?” he asks.

“No, Pharaoh. There are no records in the palace of any Kul Elna.”

“...Not anything?” Atem struggles to push Bakura’s warning out of his head. He doesn’t want to think about the only people he trusts hiding things from him. “He said it would be easy to find the information.”

“Pharaoh…” Mahad is frowning at him.

“You think he’s trying to trick me, too,” Atem says, touching the Pendant around his neck. He knows that Bakura wouldn’t be able to steal it in broad daylight, but its weight helps remind him of his conviction. It’s the power of unity. He uses it to help his people.

“...Yes,” Mahad says, frowning. Atem tightens his hands around the Pendant. “But…” he continues, “I did find something else.” Atem leans forward. “Some of the records are… missing, I think, or perhaps altered. It’s hard to tell if you’re not looking for it. Whoever did this did it expertly.”

“So there _is_ something. But you don’t know who’s responsible?”

“There _may_ be something, and even then I'm still not sure if it's related to what you're looking for. It’s going to take me some time to get through all the records to be sure.”

“Thank you,” Atem says. Mahad gives him a gentle smile in return. “Now, where were we?”

“You were losing at senet.”

“Right…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s when the moon gets larger again that Bakura returns. Atem doesn’t wake from any sound or touch in particular; he simply becomes aware that he is no longer alone in his bedroom. He closes his eyes again until he feels the additional weight on his bed.

“Got you,” he whispers, reaching up to hold Bakura in place. He watches Bakura blink once, then grin.

“Are you sure about that?” Bakura slides out of Atem’s grip, catching Atem’s wrists in one hand and straddling his hips, leaning over Atem and holding him down as easy as breathing. Atem arches reflectively, and Bakura leans down to capture his lips in a fierce kiss.

“I was wondering when you’d be slithering in here again,” Atem says, a bit breathless, after they part.

Bakura laughs. “Miss me?” His face is so close it’s a wonder Atem doesn’t go cross-eyed looking up at him.

“Absolutely not,” Atem replies, arching up to kiss him again. “You’re a menace.”

“That must be so _awful_ for you,” Bakura says, rubbing himself against Atem and swallowing Atem’s gasp by sticking his tongue in Atem’s mouth again. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“Whose fault is that?” Atem manages to wiggle one of his hands free, and promptly uses it to pull Bakura closer to him. Bakura laughs like he’s been expecting it, but leans in, dragging his hips against Atem’s for several minutes of dizzying audacity.

“Do you have any oil, or…?” Bakura says after a while, temporarily detaching himself while he looks around the room.

“In the box with the painting of Tata and Sened slaying the serpent Apep, next to my senet box.” Bakura snickers and gets up to retrieve the oil. A brief wave of panic washes over Atem when he realizes he’s slipped up and mentioned the senet box, but it goes away just as quickly once he realizes Bakura is snickering at the contents of his serpent-slaying box.

“Found it. Ooh, the Royal Condom. You’ve got some quality shit in here. A very nice Hathor statuette, in the shape of—”

“Shut up before I change my mind,” Atem groans.

“You don’t get to boss me around,” Bakura says, returning with the oil jar and pinning Atem back down again.

“Prove it.” There’s not much talking after that. There’s also half a minute of the not-talking where they have to fight to keep still while Atem’s guard walks past his door, but when it ends, Bakura is even more ferocious than before.

“There’s… there’s your proof,” Bakura says, once they’ve finished. “Satisfied?”

“You’ve made your point,” Atem admits. Bakura, still half-collapsed on top of him, chuckles into his ear. They really have got to stop doing this. Probably. “Did you just come here for that, or was there something else you wanted to bother me about?”

“Just leave it for a minute,” Bakura says.

“...Fine.” Atem closes his eyes just listens to Bakura breathe for a while. “Why do you always smell like garlic?”

“It tastes good.” Atem can’t help but laugh. “Shut up, not everybody has twenty different kinds of perfume.”

“Do not.”

“I’m sorry, thirty kinds,” Bakura says. Atem laughs again, but it’s short-lived.

“Bakura,” Atem asks quietly, “why did you come here tonight?”

“Gotta check up on you,” Bakura responds, just as quiet. “Make sure you’re actually listening.” Atem hears him huff out a breath. “Didn’t mean to get distracted.”

“I’m listening.”

“And?” Bakura props himself up on his elbows to look down at Atem. “Have you been looking?”

“My priest has been combing through the records for weeks, now,” Atem says. “The name Kul Elna does not appear in them even once.” What might be missing or not is something he’s not yet been able to determine.

“Your priest is lying to you,” Bakura says, sitting up, “or he’s destroyed those records.”

“I trust Mahad with my life,” Atem protests, glaring at the other man and sitting up as well.

“But do you trust him to tell you the truth instead of trying to spare you from it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Atem insists. “I’ll not listen to you say such things.”

“You're really set on your own ruin, aren't you?” Bakura says, scowling as he gets off the bed and stalks over to his kilt, putting it back on. “Whether it's your arrogance or your idiocy. And it was just as stupid of me to expect anything else.”

“I’m trying to help you,” Atem replies, robing himself again as well. “You’re the one who refuses to tell me this truth you claim to have. I can’t do anything without the proper information.”

“You’re the fucking Pharaoh!” Bakura snaps. “A god on Earth! Your word is law!” He seems to realize how loud he’s speaking and drops his voice down to a hiss. “You haven’t been able or even willing to do a single thing I’ve asked of you. And if you can’t do anything, then who can?” He starts heading for the window, yanking his arm out of Atem’s grip with a grimace when Atem runs to hold him in place. “I’m done waiting around for the impossible to happen. The next time we see each other, I’m coming in through the front gates, and you’re going to do as I ask, and you’re going to die.”

“Bakura, this can’t be what you really want. This isn’t what anybody wants.”

“You don’t know anything about what I do or don’t want. Bye.”

Bakura leaves through the window. Atem briefly considers calling for guards to chase him, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to look his priests in the eye if they asked him any questions tonight. Instead, he cleans himself and his room up, and then gets back into bed so he can pretend to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Pharaoh, if you need to take a nap, you may.”

Atem blinks himself alert with a start. Mahad is sighing at him, though not without affection.

“Sorry,” Atem says, looking back towards the letter from the governor in Memphis he’s supposed to be drafting a response to. “We can keep going.”

“Did you not sleep well last night?” Mahad asks. Atem looks back up at him; he’s gazing steadily at Atem like he knows exactly who Atem spoke to last night.

“...No,” Atem says. “How did you know?”

“I know when something is troubling you,” Mahad says, smiling again. “And you’ve been yawning all day.”

“Sorry,” Atem says again, smiling sheepishly.

“What did he say to you?” Atem feels his smile drop at the reminder.

“We’re running out of time, Mahad. He’s going to come back again, I just don’t know when.”

“Then us priests will defeat him when he does,” Mahad replies. “Let us protect you.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me,” Atem says.

“That’s exactly why we want to protect you.”

“Mahad, please.” Atem complains; Mahad looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“I’ll keep searching for clues,” Mahad says, after the moment of levity passes. “But I’m beginning to suspect the trail there has gone cold. We may have to start exploring other avenues.”

“Perhaps,” Atem says, “but I have a feeling we’re going to find out soon, one way or another.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Five days later, in the middle of a criminal sentencing, the palace is thrown into disarray. A guard rushes into the throne room, panicked, and then collapses. Then a figure appears at the entrance, backlit, dragging something behind him.

“Is this the throne room?” the intruder asks, kicking the collapsed guard out of his path as he steps inside. He’s covered in golden funerary relics, and underneath, is wearing a red robe.

“Halt, in the name of the Pharaoh!” Set shouts. “Who are you?”

Atem realizes that the thing the intruder is dragging behind him is his father. He looks across the throne room, at the intruder, and sees reflected the same certainty that is now blazing inside of him. There is no turning back, now.

“I’m Bakura, King of Thieves. Give me the Millenium Items.”

“No.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to let you know that the Pharaoh’s Royal Condom is historically accurate. I saw Tutankhamen’s royal condom with my own two eyes in a museum.


End file.
